ten.

We end up driving around town until we find a parking space, a spectacular feat considering it's a busy night and the streets and restaurants are all jam-packed. We spend half an hour walking up and down the streets, looking for a place to eat. We observe, sniff the air, and analyze the menus as we talk amongst ourselves about anything and everything. It feels strange, to be with somebody like this and not feel self-conscious. Even when I'm with Sam, I feel like I have to constantly judge myself and try to imagine myself from his eyes, something I don't have to do with Greyson. It's relieving. It's freeing.

And yet, with every laugh, and every moment our bodies touch as we walk side by side, the night grows dimmer as the guilt builds on me. I don't think Sam would necessarily go on an anger rampage if I told him about this escapade with Greyson, but I wouldn't count on him being happy about it either. I can just imagine the hurt and confused look on his face when I explain that I went out to dinner with another boy the night before I'm supposed to go out with him. Even to me, it sounds horrible. I cringe every so often as I think more and more about it, and after a while, Greyson catches on, though he mistakens my winces for shivers.

"Cold?" he asks, pausing us in front of a tiny dimly-lit one-slice pizzeria. It's one of the only empty buildings on the street and I can't help but feel sorry for it. However, despite my hopes that it gets a customer, I don't want to go in. It's an age-old rule drilled into me by my dad before he left us: don't go into an empty restaurant unless you want to come out with food poisoning. According to him, the food isn't cycled enough when there hasn't been anybody there in a while. Thinking about my dad jars me: I haven't thought about him in so long. I'm lost in my train of thought when I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I look up in surprise at Greyson's worried face. Thinking back to what we were talking about, I shake my head belatedly.

"No, I'm fine." Thinking about my dad sends shivers down my spine and I refute my answer by shivering again. Greyson touches my cheek softly to feel how cold I am before pulling away and taking off the black hoodie he was wearing and draping it over my shoulders. It's ironic how this was something I was hoping for with Sam tomorrow, and it just happened tonight, but with a different boy. I unconsciously bring my hands up to feel the jacket, sliding it off and wrestling my arms through the silver-threaded lined sleeves. It's warmer than I thought for such thin fabric and it has a very lived-in air about it that I can't help but sink into. Sadly, though, it doesn't smell like anything special like it always does in the romance novels. Instead, it smells like anything else: an abstract article of clothing faintly reminding me of laundry detergent.

Still, it's a very romantic gesture and I can't help but blush as Greyson pulls me along, taking me further and further away from my thoughts until we reach a less-busy street that I've never been to. He guides me down a narrow alley that I would ordinarily be afraid of but with Greyson beside me, it's less scary.

Finally, we stop in front of a tiny Japanese ramen shop, artfully titled Trust Ramen, a confusing but somehow appropriate title for the little restaurant. Steam wafts out from its doors, hinting at the delicious goodness located inside. We head inside at my smile, and are ushered to a corner booth by an energetic elderly Japanese woman who smiles widely at us. We're not the only people here, a fact that relieves me.

I stare at the menu, unsure of what to order. Greyson hunches over next to me and whispers, "I come here a lot. So don't be weirded out if the waitresses know me by name."

Right on cue, a different waitress comes bustling over with a tray of ice water and a teapot and two teacups. "Gracie, so good to see you again!" I want to laugh at her nickname for him as he sinks lower in his seat. The woman's faint Japanese accent makes me feel more comfortable in this restaurant as she sets the platter down and unloads the glasses and cups. As she's pouring the tea, she looks me over and turns to Greyson, smiling widely, "What a pretty girl! I've never seen you bring girl here before!" She winks at him and turns to me. "You very lucky. This boy never bring girl." Her broken English reminds me of my dad—he spoke Italian and only learned English when he met my mother—and I turn away. Greyson notices and turns to the waitress, smiling widely.

"I'll have my usual!" he says with more pep than he normally has in his voice. She nods and turns to me.

"And you? What will you have?"

I stare at the menu helplessly. At this point, anything sounds good to me. "I'll have what Greyson's having." She grins widely.

"Very good choice." She heads back into the kitchen with the empty platter. Greyson turns to me and grins.

"Do you want to know what you just ordered?" he quips. I shrug.

"I like surprises. But if you want to tell me, I'm all for it." He gestures around the area.

"This is a ramen shop. So obviously I got ramen. But what kind, you may ask? We'll leave that up to you to find out." I smile at him.

"It's a win-win," I say.

By the time the food arrives, I'm famished. I rub my hands together expectantly as the waitress sets a steaming bowl of ramen in front of me. Greyson notices my hand-rubbing and raises an eyebrow, laughing a little. I look away, a faint tinge of red visible on my face. I stare at the food in front of me and my stomach grumbles. A deep bowl of curled ramen noodles, sliced beef, pink and white fish cakes, bamboo shoots that I've never seen before tonight, a hard-boiled egg cut into halves, and to top it all off, scallions and green onion. By the bowl is a tiny bottle of some sort of spicy sauce that Greyson assures me only adds to the flavor, compelling me to add a little to the steamy broth.

I grab my soup spoon and load it up with a little bit of everything, wanting to try it all at once to taste the full capacity of its flavor. Pausing to blow on it to avoid the awful feeling of burning my tongue, I shovel the whole thing into my mouth, wincing at the residual heat of the soup. It's amazing and the combined flavors create an epiphany of deliciousness that forces me to emit a noise that I would ordinarily be highly self-conscious—not to mention embarrassed—of.

Greyson is busily slurping right next to me and doesn't seem to notice my reaction, much to my relief. I continue to eat in ecstatic silence, which doesn't break until we are both content, filled to the brim with soup and noodles and beef. The waitress hands us a check and takes our licked-clean bowls away. Greyson studies the bill studiously, holding it so that I can't see. I try to peek at the total, but his broad shoulders shield it from me. I wait until he's momentarily focused on something else to snatch it from his grasp. He starts, surprised, and tries to take it back from me.

"Lisa, I got it!" He makes a wild grab for it but I keep a strong and steady hold on it, determined to keep it with me.

"No. Why should you have to pay?" I ask.

He doesn't seem to have an answer. "Maybe because I asked you here? Or maybe because it's the right thing to do?"

I shake my head vigorously. "Why? Because you're the guy?"

He holds up his hands. "I never said that. It's not what I meant. It's just... it's the nice thing to do. So just let me cover it."

I'm already taking out my wallet from the tiny clutch I thoughtfully decided to bring along. I take out enough cash and a little extra to cover the bill and tip and hand it to the waitress as soon as she comes back. Greyson continues to protest but he's realized that he's lost. I smile in satisfaction as I stand and walk out, Greyson following close behind. When we're outside, we're immediately hit by the cold. We start to make the long trek back to the car, one that seems infinitesimally longer than when we started, maybe because of the cold or maybe because of the tension that started when I paid the bill.

I turn to Greyson and sigh, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel any less charitable or nice or anything. It's just... I believe in women's rights. It's something I've always felt strongly about, ever since Luke. I just think it's time to get rid of the boy-treating-girl stereotypes and move on to a bigger and better world." I groan loudly. "I sound so cheesy. I just mean—"

"I know what you mean," Greyson interrupts. "And it's fine. It just kind of blemished my pride a bit back there. But you know, it's all good." We resume walking and it's quiet again. Then: "Were you a big fan of her? Luke?" He speaks about her as if she was a commonplace person that we both know. He speaks about her like I used to speak about her.

I nod, confused by his change in subject. Then I realize that the feminist talk must have made him think about her, since she was the biggest and most determined feminist that I know. "Always. She really helped me to get out a bad place in my life."

There's a pause. It's a horrible silence, really. It makes a perfect opening for me to divulge all my secrets and tell Greyson everything about my life, like I'm supposed to, like we've agreed to. I open my mouth and try to think of the words to explain.

But I can't. And all of the ways that I think of sound ominously darkening.

Greyson, I suffer from depression and anxiety. And sometimes I have panic attacks for no reason. No biggie.

He's going to think I'm crazy. And I don't even know why it's such a big deal. It's not like I'm insane or dangerous or anything. It's just, I've never told anyone anything about this part of me and the thought of telling anybody, even a friend like Greyson, scares me.

But he deserves to know. And he deserves to hear it from me. After all, this is the reason why we met in the first place.

I open my mouth, ready to dive right in and just say the words. I manage to get out, "Greyson, I suffer from—" And I as I think about everything that I want to say, and everything that I'm about to expose to somebody else about myself, I realize that I can't do it. Not because I don't want to but because all of a sudden, my lungs close up and the words can't emerge. My hands and arms and legs and torso start to shake and I'm trembling visibly. Sweat emerges on my brow, and a sudden dizziness overtakes me. My body turns numb a second later so that I can't feel anything. My brain detaches from the world and I'm unaware of who I am or where I am or who's around me. The last thing I hear before blacking out is, "Lisa? My God, Lisa. Can you hear me?"

******

I jolt awake, blearily finding my bearings. I squint my eyes at the sudden light in my eyes, a beacon of energy out of the darkness I feel like I was stuck in for forever. I'm vaguely aware that I'm laying down, my body horizontal and my face pointed upwards towards a car light. I'm the backseat of a car. I don't know whose car and I don't know how I got here but I know I'm in a car and for now, that's enough.

I struggle to remember what happened, trying to get a sense of who I am or how I am here. Fragments of my memory come rushing back to me.

I am Lisa Schwartz.

I am Lisa Marilla Schwartz.

I am here with a boy.

I am here with a boy named Greyson.

Greyson Carter. We were eating. And then we were walking.

And I was going to tell him.

And then I couldn't.

I passed out.

I passed out because I had another panic attack.

All of a sudden, I remember everything. The thoughts cause me to sit up. I jolt upwards too fast and my head spins from the sudden action. My mouth lets out something that vaguely sounds like a cross between a groan and a moan. A boy's face comes rushing into view above me.

"Lisa? Lisa? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

I nod. This is Greyson. He is safe. I am safe when I am with him.

"Oh my God, Lisa. You scared me half to death. Are you okay?" I force myself to nod, though I feel anything but okay.

"Water," I manage to get out. Greyson looks surprised at my request and rushes around to the back of the car. He comes back with an unopened bottle of water.

I chug it all in less than ten seconds and feel semi-rejuvenated after. When I feel ready to speak, I ask hoarsely, "What happened?"

Grey looks at me with those piercing grey eyes. "I was about to ask you the same thing. I think you had a panic attack?"

I nod. I don't have the words to explain myself. Instead, I ask, "How did I get here?"

Grey looks away and clears his throat. "Well, after you passed out, I freaked. Then I realized that I had to get you out of the middle of a dark street, where who knows what was out there. I scooped you up and carried you back here. I've been sitting here for the past half hour, waiting for you to wake up, scared out of my mind." He pauses and scrutinizes my face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I'm amazed. "How did you manage to carry me all the way back?"

He shrugs. "I don't really know. I guess it was the adrenaline or something. I was so scared, Lee. So scared. I didn't call the police because I know that a panic attack generally doesn't require the emergency room or anything." He shakes his head. "That was so dumb of me. I should have gotten you help."

I look away, a tear escaping from my tear duct. "It's okay. I don't need a hospital. I'm sorry about all of this. But thank you."

He looks abashed. "You don't need to thank me. I'm sure you would have done the same for me."

"I would have tried. But I don't think even sheer will would have helped me." He laughs and I muster some semblance of a laugh along with him. "How did you know it was a panic attack?" I ask.

He sighs. "Because I get them too."

His confession surprises me so much that I can't help but start in surprise. Greyson from the outside looks so calm and collected, as if he has everything in his life prioritized and organized. Who knew that he would suffer from something like what I go through?

"The bullying is what started it," he says. He moves my legs gently over so that he can sit on the end of the seat. He stares outside studiously as he speaks, his mouth moving and his eyes stormy with anger and hurt.

"Hey," I say, touching his arm. I can tell this is hard for him, maybe just as hard as it is for me to tell him about my problems. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me. We can talk about something else."

"No," he says, shaking his head and turning to me. "You deserve to know." I feel guilty about his forward honesty and my lack thereof. He doesn't say anything about it, though, and continues to speak. I listen without interrupting; it's what he deserves.

"I honestly don't know why they picked on me in the first place. I wasn't ugly, I wasn't exceptionally nerdy, I wasn't annoying. At least I hope I wasn't annoying. They mostly said things that would slander my family or friends rather than me. And even though I knew I should have defended the people that I care about the most, I couldn't. It was a thing about me: no violence, not even for revenge or as an act of defiance. And this egged them on. They knew I wasn't going to fight back." He pauses and looks at me.

"Sam West. The boy you're always with? He was my best friend back in those days." I start in surprise and he merely nods before continuing. "He was the only one who defended me. He fought for me, he covered for me, he even gave me a home for a couple of weeks." At my confused look, he elaborates. "One day, the boys decided to make me their personal punching bag. By the time they were done with me and had scampered away laughing and victorious, I was bloodied to the pulp. I had two black eyes, a split lip, and blood was leaking out of cuts all over my body. It was Sam who found me, took me home, cleaned me up, covered for me with my parents, and housed me until I was mostly healed. I couldn't let my parents know what was going on."

There's one thing I don't understand: if Greyson and Sam were such good friends back then, what happened to make them feel such tension and animosity towards each other now?

I'm about to ask when Greyson continues. "Things went downhill for me when Sam made the football team." Ah, so there it is, the reason why Greyson and Sam aren't friends anymore. "Sam's biggest dream was to play football on the varsity team and make his dad proud. I couldn't deny him that right. He insisted it wouldn't change anything and that we would still be friends and that he would still help me out. But it did.

"All of a sudden, everybody knew Sam's name. He shot up from a nobody to a hotshot on campus in a matter of days. He was friends with everybody. Everyone knew his name. He was popular.

"He didn't not make friends with the bullies but he also made friends with the rest of the jocks. There was another fight another day and I was beaten up again. This time, there was a whole crowd watching us, which only fueled the bullies' spite and malice. They gave me a worse beating than the first time." I wince at what that must have felt like and I reach an arm out to Greyson, who stares at my hand on his shoulder gratefully.

"It was only until I was on the floor, my stomach heaving and my head reeling, my blood spilling onto the school's outer courtyard, that I saw him and the rest of his friends in the crowd. I know he saw me and I know he knew it was me but instead of coming to my aid like he did before, he turned away and left me, a bag of mangled flesh and bones.

"It was then that I knew that Sam and I weren't friends anymore, not like before. I can't blame him though. It must feel nice to be popular. If I were him, I would probably have done the same thing.

"That night, I went home to face my parents. My mom was shocked and saddened by it all but she couldn't do anything about it. My dad went berserk, screaming at me for not fighting back and not telling them sooner. They didn't have the proper funds to help me to transfer schools. They wanted to talk to the administration but I figured it wouldn't do any good and would only give the bullies another reason to taunt me. So I lived with it until they had saved up enough money to bring me to West Lake."

He stops, his story obviously over. My head is spinning, though whether it's from everything I just heard or the residual effects of the panic attack, I don't know.

I force myself to speak. "I'm so sorry, Greyson." I don't know what else to say to something like that. "That sounds horrible. I'm so glad you're at West Lake now and away from them and all of that." He holds his hands out to me and I take them.

He clears his throat. "Thanks for listening, Lee. You're the first person I've told other than my parents." He stops. "I'm really glad that we got to know each other. And don't worry about telling me your story. It's okay to take your time. I get that it's hard. Hell, even telling a story like mine that I've told to others before, was hard for me. So I get it if you need to take your time."

I am so grateful for this boy and I simply nod. "Thank you, Greyson. I want to tell you. I just have to figure out how to first." He nods.

"Take you time, Lee."

I smile softly at him, our hands still interlocked. "Just so you know, Sam isn't all that bad," I say softly, because I refuse to believe that Sam could have been that horrible of a person. He doesn't seem that way at all. "I'm sure he has his reasons for what he did. And I'm not saying that he was in the right. Not at all. I'm just saying, maybe you should give him a chance to explain everything," I say.

Greyson doesn't say anything but instead nods and clasps my hands tighter in his, instilling in me a strength that only Greyson Carter could make me feel.

double update! tell me what you think so far!

malaynaturally xx